The Everyday Heroes
by Only Human
Summary: A collection of short stories involving human-mutant interaction showing that humans are just as worthwhile as mutants. Scott's story up-second one! PG just as a precaution.
1. Pietro's story Run the Race

Pietro's story

Disclaimer: If you recognize it as someone else's, then it's not mine. 

Run the Race

          I'll never forget that day. To borrow a phrase from the book, _The_ _Seven Habits of Highly Successful Teens_, I had a paradigm shift. 

          "You, Pietro!" you might be exclaiming incredulously. 

          "Yes, me," is my simple reply.

          The day that changed my life was the day of the mutant challenge in college. In high school, we mutants were hated and feared, but after a few years, some humans actually got a handle on the issue. While overall, the public didn't like us, a few colleges opened their doors to openly mutant students. The college I went to, in fact, was approximately 62% mutant. Not surprising considering how few colleges accepted our applications, we usually flocked together for our education.

          In the college's efforts to promote not only mutant tolerance, but also acceptance and recognition, it began hosting an annual mutant challenge, in which mutant college students were invited to compete in a number of physical and mental challenges in which they either would or would not need their powers. I signed up for the 5K, knowing for certain I'd win…

          "Name," said the administrator in a monotone voice.

          "Pietro Maximoff."

          "Power?"

          "Super speed," Pietro smirked.

          The administrator raised his eyebrows and made a note on his clip board.

          "Proof of mutation."

          Pietro showed him a copy of his school medical form, clearly labeling him a mutant.

          "Number thirty-one. Line up starts at nine forty-five. Don't be late." Said the administrator handing him a number to pin to his shirt.

          "Next," he called as Pietro began to move away.

          A young woman stepped up to the table.

          "Name?"

          "Sandy Moore."

          "Power?"

          "None, sir." Pietro stopped and perked up his ears.

          The man looked up at the girl. "I don't have time for jokes, Missy."

          "This isn't a joke, I am simply a powerless mutant."

          The administrator sighed, "Fine, proof of mutation."

          Sandy handed the man a small handful of papers.

          "What are these," the administrator asked icily.

          "My proof of mutation."

          "This is your medical record, not a school health form. No where does it say you are an actual mutant."

          "Oh yes it does," said the girl with fire.

          "It says I have ovarian cancer, cancer by definition is a mutation, and a mutant, by definition, is one who has a mutation; therefore, I am a mutant."

          "Miss, listen, the line is very long; we do not have time for this."

          "No, you listen, the sign says all mutants welcome, and by definition, I am a mutant."

          "You know, the woman has a point," butted in Pietro.

          "What seems to be the trouble?" asked the challenge coordinator coming up behind them.

          "I request to be entered into the 5K race."

          "Well, all mutants are welcome to sign up."

          "She's not a mutant, sir," stated the administrator.

          "Yes, I am," said Sandy through gritted teeth, handing the medical paper to the coordinator.

          After skimming the papers' contents, the coordinator smiled sadly, "Miss, these say you have cancer, not that you're a mutant. I'm sorry for your illness, but rules are rules. No humans allowed."

          "You know," said Pietro, who had annoyingly stood there listening to the whole conversation, "The girl has a point. Cancer is a mutation, and a mutant is defined by his mutation. Technically, she's a mutant."

          "And who might you be?" queried the coordinator with a forced smile.

          "Pietro Lensherr Maximoff."

          "Did you just say Lensherr, as in Eric Lensherr's son??"

          "Why yes, do you know him?"

          "Of course, um, well," mumbled the coordinator, loosening his tie nervously.

          "So, can the lady run?"

          "Why, of course," said the coordinator hastily backing away.

          "You heard the man, chop, chop. Sign her up."

          "Whatever," the administrator rolled his eyes, "Number 32, 9:45, don't be late. NEXT!"

          Pietro turned to leave.

          "Wait!" called the girl.

          "Um, thanks," she said as he turned around.

          "Yeah, whatever. The guy was a jerk. Now, mutant jerks I can handle, but I can't stand human jerks. Got to put them in their place, you know," Pietro sneered. "You are going to get creamed in the race. A human running with mutants, hmph. What are you trying to prove anyway?"

          At that remark, Sandy looked Quiksilver straight in the eyes and said, "That I am stronger than my mutation."

          At nine forty-five the racers lined up at the starting line and began some light warm-ups and stretching. By ten, all were ready. 

          "You are so going down," said Pietro for anyone who could hear. 

ON YOUR MARK! GET SET!...BANG! The gun rang out.

          Pietro darted off and was at the finish before the starting shot had even reverberated. In another minute, another speedster flew past, followed by a third half a minute later. 

          Pietro kept running, lapping all the runners many times over in prideful bliss. The crowd adored him, they shouted and applauded, chanting his name over and over again. But, as he began to listen to their cheers gloatingly, he realized the name they were chanting was not his.

          "SANDY, SANDY, SANDY!!" the crowd chanted with cries of "keep going!" and "you can do it!" thrown in for good measure. Pietro halted to a complete stop. What were they doing?? He was the winner, he was victorious. Why was the huffing, puffing human getting all the glory? Pietro fumed as the aforementioned girl passed by him muttering "I can do all things, through Christ which strengtheneth me" over and over and over again. Pietro cursed under his breath. He cursed the girl, the race, and his ever helping her get into this stupid challenge.

          When Sandy crossed the finish line, she had a crowd of family and friends awaiting her all giving her hugs and congratulations and eventually succeeding in hoisting her over their shoulders and carrying her off the track.

          As Sandy came out of the locker room, Pietro confronted her.

          "Look, I don't know who you think you are, Sandy," he sneered, "But running is what I do, this was my race, and I won it. Not you. You understand that."

          Sandy looked at him with a puzzled look, "No one's attesting your win, you know." 

          Pietro paused. "Yeah, well. It's not fair. I won, and you got all the glory," he said completely deflated.

          "I wasn't running for glory; I wasn't even running to win the top prize. You know that, right."

          "Well, what were you running for then?"

          "To finish. To show that I am stronger than my mutation because my Jesus is stronger than my disease."

          "But, it's not fair…"

          "Neither is a diagnosis of ovarian cancer when you're only twenty," said Sandy with a gentle smile, calmly walking away to meet her friends for a celebration.

It took me a long time to digest what Sandy said that day, and even longer to figure out what it was she accomplished that morning on mutant challenge day. I never saw her again; she dropped out of school shortly after the race due to medical complications, about a year later I read her name in the obituaries. I'll never forget her, though, she planted a seed in my heart that day, something about her calm spirit behind that demanding demeanor captured my attention. I began to do research on this Jesus of hers that was stronger than her disease and discovered the "peace which passeth all understanding."

The day I met Sandy, my paradigm shifted. That day, I may have come in first, but Sandy Moore won the race.


	2. Scott's Story A Kick in the Butt

Scott's story         

A Kick in the Butt

          "Heh, Scott!" called Paul from across the school yard, "Wait up. I need to talk to you."

Scott slowly turned around. He and Paul had been friends since their freshman year. They'd practically been inseparable during school hours, but ever since the x-men's outing as mutants they hardly spoke to each other, mostly because Scott avoided practically all humans after his earlier encounter with Duncan and the football team.

Paul confidently approached Scott, stopped right in from of him then squarely punched him across the jaw.

"What the..! What was that for?!!" exclaimed Scott knowing full well, or at least thinking full well he understood, what the answer was.

"Oh, I think you know, _Cyclops_," Paul taunted. "Do you even remember what last week was or are you too 'special' for things like that??" Paul asked using the classic quote signals to emphasis his point.

"Last week? What about last week? It was spring break…Oh."

"That's right, oh, is that all it is to you. Do you have any idea how long I waited for you???" Paul shouted, "We planned that trip for three years and all you can say is, _oh_??"

"Look, man, I forgot! Okay, I spent the whole week working," defended Scott.

"Oh, that's right. I forgot; you're an x-man. You're too special to hang out with us normal folks. You can only hang out with freaks."

"What did you call me?"

"You heard me, Freak. What? You think you're better than I am, you think you're stronger than I am, you think you're superior??" Paul queried, pushing Scott backwards with each phrase. "But wait, you're homo superior; of course you're better than I am." Here Paul stopped.

Scott started to turn to head for the parking lot, but before he had even taken a step, Paul threw a left hook knocking off Scott's glasses then knocked him to the ground. 

"Not so tough, without your glasses are you, _Cyclops_?" goaded Paul pinning Scott to the ground. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, Buddy."  
          "Paul, I don't want to hurt you," Scott cried trying to get up.

"Don't want to hurt me, huh?" Paul quipped locking Scott into a scissors position, "What do you think you did when didn't show up for the road trip we've been planning for three years? What about when you left me hanging the night before Physics mid-terms when you promised to help me study? Or the time you promised you'd make the match, and never showed? You think those didn't hurt?"

"You don't understand," cried Scott, exasperated, being unable to get out of the scissors lock, "I have missions to go on, and the public doesn't exactly like my presence. 

"Oh, there's another one. How about the fact my best friend is a mutant and forgot to mention it. You outright lied about it too, once, if my memory serves me right."

"You saw what happened when people found out. The professor was trying to keep that from happening," grunted Scott finally getting out of the scissors hold and scrambling to pin Paul down.

"So you do whatever your precious professor tells you to do, huh? You don't tell your best friend that you're a mutant because of some old guy in a wheelchair?"

"He's not just some old guy in a wheelchair!"  
          "Then who is he? A god?"

By this time Logan, who'd come to pick the students up, had meandered over to the fight and had been watching it for some time. At one point, Jean had tried to put an end to the fight, but Logan held her back.

"You're just gonna stand there, and let Scott get beat up! He's not even wearing his glasses!"

"Yep! I only spell anger and hurt coming from that kid, no hate. Whatever Scott's getting, he deserves. Good practice anyway, that kid's good."

Jean folded her arms in disgust, but didn't try to contradict Logan. It wasn't a safe thing to do. As the other x-men gathered around the fight, each in his turn thought about putting an end to the fight and helping Scott, but after a stern look from Logan, decided it was in their best interests to stay out of it. 

"Scott! Listen to yourself!" cried Paul in desperation, finally pinned after Scott's burst of angry energy from Paul's snide remark about Xavier. "You're acting like a moron. You act as if you're the only one who's had it bad, as if you're somehow exempt from common decency because you're a mutant. You don't even return my calls anymore!" Paul exclaimed struggling to reach into his pocket.

"Wait, you called?" asked Scott incredulously, slightly releasing his grip. This action gave Paul just enough room to grab what he was reaching for. Before Scott could even react, a mace can was aimed at his eyes. As the liquid seeped through the cracks of his eyelids, Scott reeled back rubbing his eyes and blinking.

Paul hastily got up, and the x-men ran toward Scott as he screamed in pain. Suddenly, red beams shot out of his eyes and hit Paul dead on his chest. Paul slammed back and landed about five feet away next to Scott's glasses. Scott immediately shut his eyes again.

"Paul, Paul!" he cried, "Are you all right?!"

"Yeah, Man," Paul moaned, "I'm cool, I deserved that."

Scott crawled toward his friend, "Paul, you should be dead."

"Yeah, well I'm not," laughed Paul then he moaned. By this time the x-men had gathered around the two, staring in disbelief.

"Here," said Paul, putting glasses on Scott. "You can open your eyes now." 

Scott slowly blinked his eyes open then stared out in amazement, as the x-men looked on in wonder.

"Brown," stated Paul, "I was rather hoping for an exciting color like red or purple or polka dots or something. But nope, just plain, ordinary brown. It figures."  
          "What did you do?" asked Scott, taking off the pseudo-glasses. 

"The spray was laced with ruby quartz. I've been working on it for about a year now. What? You didn't think I knew you were a mutant. I'm a human, not an idiot. Don't give me that look. I'm the one who got you through chemistry remember. I may not be able to understand physics to save my life, but me and chemistry get along just fine. Don't get used to it, though. The spray is only a prototype it will probably only last a couple of minutes. The catharsis was a surprise; however, I think I still have some kinks to work out."

Scott looked around him at all his friends, they were in color. And the sky, the sky was blue really blue. The grass was green, the dandelions were yellow. He'd forgotten how beautiful color was.

"Earth to Scott," called Kurt from what seemed like a long distance, "You should probably put your glasses back on, Paul said it vould vear off soon."

Scott nodded slowly placing the abominable glasses back on his nose and looked at Paul. "Thank-you, you have no idea how much that meant to me."

"No problem."

"And thank-you for beating me up; I needed it."  
          "Anytime, Scott, anytime. 'Cause, face it, you need me. I mean, no offence, these guys are great," Paul began, waving his hands around at the gathered mutants, "but you need guy your age you can confide in, I mean come on, a bunch of chicks, a freshman, and a sophomore?" Paul smiled, "You can do better than that. Besides, your wrestling is atrocious, and if it wasn't for me, you'd have never passed chemistry."

Scott laughed. "You have a point. So, you wanna come over and get started on this week's physics project."

"As long as we can take my car, that van is too hideous for words. While we're at it, we might as well plan a summer trip since the spring trip got canceled." 

With those words, the two old friends hobbled to Paul's car wincing as they walked.

Later that evening, Xavier and Logan discussed the fight.

"I'm not sure I approve of your allowing that kind of violence between a mutant and a human, do you have any idea what could have happened?" questioned Xavier.

"Yes, I'm well aware of the consequences of something like that happening. Xavier, you may be a telepath, but you're not all knowing."

"What are you implying, Logan?"

"That you're not aware of the consequences of my breaking up their fight."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that sometimes being a good friend means standing back and letting things go, and sometimes being a good friend means kicking your friend's butt. And that's exactly what Paul did." With those words, Logan nodded and headed out the door. He smiled to himself as he lit a cigar. Maybe there was hope for the uptight leader after all.

Author's note: I own nothing of the x-men. They belong to marvel and other rich people. This isn't one of my best stories, but I wanted a story where Scott got his butt kicked, and a human figured out a way to stop the eye beams. It's a bit far-fetched, but heh, anything's possible right? Constructive criticism much appreciated. 


End file.
